If Bashar Al-Assad Was Isekai'd Into The World Of Girls Und Panzer
by CowboySunshine
Summary: In this Halal adventure, Bashar Hafez Al-Assad finds himself taken from Damascus, Syria into the world of Garupan! Not only does he have to find a way to hide Exactly 520,291 Litres Of Sarin Gas from Interpol, he himself might find his new Kafir Waifu(s)! Which girl(s) will he choose? What will he do with the Sarin Gas? Is Yukari Shayṭān? *Requires A Knowledge Of Memri TV Quotes*
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

**7th of December 2023**

**Colonel Jamsheed "The RPG God-Boss" Nassar**

**Syrian Army 2nd Corp **

**Damascus Outskirts, Syria**

**Ba'ath Bunker**

**369 Feet Underground (112 Meters)**

**9:57 PM EET**

Colonel Jamsheed strutted down the long winding corridors of the Ba'ath Bunker, a compact yet sturdy subterranean complex constructed on a smaller scale than that of the Bashar Bunker directly below the Presidential Palace. The Facility was quiet except for the droning of the fluorescent lights and a rhythmic Clap-Tap of Jamsheed's Boots as he passed through room after room, door after door, and by many an armed guard posted in the facility.

Jamsheed was concerned with his sudden recall to the capital, he had been assigned to maintaining the defensive line on the Golan Heights, and had recently convinced the glorious leader himself to redeploy the 9th Anti Tank Bridge of the Syrian 1st Armored Division to his command.

Syrian forces had made it as far as Nazareth before Israeli reservists heavily delayed their advance, allowing time for an Israeli Counter Attack to be organized, moving the frontlines back to the plateau that saw 6 days of action in '67.

To make matters worse, rumors of western Coalition instigators and saboteurs infiltrating central Syria had been spreading among the ranks, tales of CIA and MI6 agents spurring the locals into revolt or arming Free Syrian Army Insurgents.

Jamsheed thought nothing of these unfounded rumors, the Westerners had been busy with something they called "The Boogaloo" for the past few years, a conflict splitting the American nation into many little pieces. Besides, it wasn't the idea of foreign intervention that made Jamsheed uneasy, no it was quite the opposite.

A fear of widespread civil war returning to Syria had gripped the Syrian general staff, leading to the bulk of the Syrian Army being returned to garrison duty in the homeland, while Jamsheed was left with a paltry force that heavily depended on geographical advantages and existing fortifications to stave off the Israeli assault until a cease fire could be negotiated.

Jamsheed knew that by Allah, regardless of manpower or equipment, he would give the Israelis a taste of his shoe if the troublemakers did not behave themselves.


	2. Chapter 1: Patriotic Defense

_Chapter 1: Patriotic Defense_

**7th of December 2023**

**Bashar Hafez Al-Assad**

**President Of The Syrian Arab Republic**

**Damascus Outskirts, Syria**

**Ba'ath Bunker**

**369 Feet Underground (112 Meters)**

**10:12 PM EET**

Al-Assad sat comfortably in his chair, eagerly awaiting for the arrival of Colonel Jamsheed Nassar, one of his most trusted men to carry out his newly hatched plan to break the stalemate at the Golan Heights. But he was also tired, he hadn't had much time to himself and worked through the night to keep his country from falling into chaos. Al-Assad got out of his chair and walked to the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

It contained a little bit of everything, such as "Flight Of The Intruder" by Stephen Coonts and "A Farewell To Arms" by Ernest Hemingway. but what caught his eye was what seemed to be a new addition to his collection, one he wasn't familiar with. Al-Assad reached to grab hold of the book and

***Dunk* *Dunk* * Dunk***

Al-Assad turned and began walking to the door that acted as the entry into his private quarters, Colonel Jamsheed was precisely on time, just as always. Al-Assad opened the door.

"President Al-Assad, it is an honour to have the chance to speak with you again, I hope we will be able to help each other, as well as whatever it is you have called me here for." Jamsheed said as he put out his right hand.

"It is always good to have your company Colonel Jamsheed". Al-Assad reached his right hand out to meet the Colonel's, and as the men's hands met, the Colonel gave a small kiss to Al-Assad on the knuckles, before giving him a handshake.

"I trust you have been doing well since we last spoke at the Aleppo conference sir?" Jamsheed asked while giving a friendly smile, that special kind you would find shared between good friends.

"I have, and you are to thank for that, If you wouldn't of spoke up against Captain Nabil and his ignorance I may of lost my shoes!" Al-Assad said as he shared a chuckle with Jamsheed. "That man is insufferable, he is worse than a Jew. He is, and may Allah forgive me for uttering this word, an Albanian in disguise. Come, let us sit and speak for we have much to discuss." He motioned for Colonel Jamsheed to come in and take a seat, and closed the door.

"I'm sure you know our situation has greatly changed since this war started" Al-Assad said seriously as he was sitting down. "The Shayṭān have regrouped and organized their forces to bring the bulwark of their armour against your line of defence, Habibi."

"That's why i wanted to ask you something I know you won't agree with. Allow me to take command of the Republican Guard and use them in the defence of our liberated land." Jamsheed said.

Al-Assad looked at Jamsheed for a moment, and smiled. "I already made up my mind to do so, but I have one condition."

"You know anything you say, any order you give, I will execute faithfully." Colonel Jamsheed replied.

"We will be deploying Sarin Gas against the great Shayṭān, and we will push our advantage until we are at the steps of the temple mount." Al-Assad said with a stone cold expression on his face.

"I do not question your order's, but I would not have faith in them unless I asked that you realise what you will be bringing upon us if this fails?" Jamsheed said. "The world will not stand idly by and let us have the victory we have all waited for if we use that weapon."

Al-Assad opened a drawer in his desk, and opened a file, scanned over it, closed it and handed it to Jamsheed. "We have a surplus, enough Liquid Sarin to cleanse all of Israel. Allah did not curse the worm and the moth as much as he cursed the Jews."

Al-Assad and Jamsheed looked at one another, a silence had overtook them. Never before did the two of them feel this kind of awkwardness in each others presence.

"I trust you will realise this is the best option for Syria, Colonel Jamsheed." Al-Assad said sternly. "The westerners will not involve themselves in another conflict any time soon. They have their own wounds to lick and heal. Israel will not win this last battle, if I am wrong, then may Allah whisk me away to another world so i may not witness this patriotic defence of our liberated land."

Jamsheed sighed "How will we be deploying the Gas?"

Al-Assad began to speak, before the door was suddenly jolted open by a Radar Technician, not one of his trusted Republican Guard Sentries, which both alarmed and infuriated him.

"Speak up! This better be good or I will have you beaten with 30 shoes for your insolence!" Al-Assad Shouted at the man.

**7th of December 2023**

**Lieutenant Hugh "Mungus" Johnson**

**509th Bomber Wing**

**Pilot & Bombardier**

**B-2 Spirit "Spirit Of Kansas" MC : "Liberator One"**

**Syrian Air Space**

**8.1 Miles Above Sea Level (12.2 Kilometres)**

**10:57 PM EET**

|| AWACS: GLOBAL EYE ||

"Liberator One, you are currently 50 Angels above the target area and are free to prosecute the target, commence operation."

|| Liberator One Mission Commander ||

"Wilco, GPS coordinates have already been synced up with the targeting pod."

|| Liberator One Pilot ||

"MOP armed, ready for deployment, we are all good to go."

|| AWACS: GLOBAL EYE ||

"Liberator One, deploy your payload and exit the target area"


	3. Chapter 2: Desert Watch

_Chapter 2: Desert Watch_

**7th of December 2023**

**Warrant Officer 3rd Class Abu-Hajaar Bishara**

**Syrian Arab Air Defense Force**

**Damascus Outskirts, Syria**

**Ba'ath Bunker, Early Warning Radar Center**

**369 Feet Underground (112 Meters)**

**10:45 PM EET**

_I wonder if I could finally get some leave if i were to slam my head against the ceiling in the storage room, no that wouldn't work im too hard headed. _Abu-Hajaar thought as he shared a chuckle to himself. For the past 48+ hours he and several other men were monitoring the screens that held the radar data for anything within a 124 Mile (200 Kilometres) range of Damascus.

"Our topside observers and sister stations have reported all clear, what about on our end?"

"Warrant Officer Abu-Hajaar?"

"Abu-Hajaar!"

He also had a habit of spacing out, a quality which is the opposite you would expect from someone who was responsible for the Air Defense of the Capital. Every second counts when intercepting aircraft or incoming ordinance.

"Yes Captain Nabil, nothing but birds and clouds for the past half hour." Abu-Hajaar Answered

Captain Nabil stared at Abu-Hajaar for a moment, with a look of disdain. He turned to his own monitoring screen and said "Good, you men will be able to get some rest soon, we've put together a schedule for different shifts. Report to your regular duty stations tomorrow morning and you will receive it."

_Oh Allah oh fuck oh shit I did it again _Abu Hajaar thought. _That was so embarrassing. If I keep this shit up im going to be shot, or i'll be assigned to a frontline unit. _

Abu-Hajaar focused onto the screen once more. He saw nothing of interest, but his Monitor was currently set to show the maximum range of radar contacts. The Early Warning Radar System will pick up air target's automatically and notify both the human operator and any other systems slave linked to the main system, such as SAM's to the targets location. It also provides a Radar Cross Section, which allows for the identification of the specific aircraft, even down to the specifics of its external payload.

He slowly began turning a dial which would allow him to take a closer look at the Radar Cross Sections, in exchange for not being able to see faraway contacts with the human eye, he would be leaving it to the computer while he examines closer ranges with much more accuracy than the Autonomous system could.

Abu-Hajaar kept turning the dial, stopping, and looking across the screen to find nothing.

"Abu-Hajaar, you do not need to do that, no Israeli will ever make it this far." quipped Khalil, a longtime friend of Abu-Hajaar. The two had completed boot camp and the technical school together, and had both been recently transferred to their new duty station at the Ba'ath Bunker to fill vacancies.

"Im here, so I should do my job, what do you do all day anyway, browsing Sunni trash like Al-Jazeera and Instagram." Abu-Hajaar said. "By Allah, I have encountered cases of cancer caused directly by pictures on social media accounts!"

"It's just a second opinion, and close-minded bigotry like that will have you on the wrong end of history." Khalil said. "Now quiet yourself, for i have documentaries to watch."

Abu-Hajaar smirked "And which one would you be watching today?"

"Feras Fayyad's documentary on the failure of Turkey as a state, and why Turkey is an Israeli plot" said Khalil

"By Allah" scoffed Abu-Hajaar "Why do you watch that ottoman garbage?"

"Well, let us begin with Erdogan, when that watermelon seller decide-"

"Both of you cease this mumbling at once!" Captain Nabir said as he gave Khalil a deft slap to the back of the head. Khalil collapsed to the floor.

"Why did you fall so quickly?" Captain Nabir spouted out, in awe at the bumbling autist in front of him.

"You hit me so hard!" Khalil replied

"It was just one slap."

As Captain Nabir and Khalil bickered, Abu-Hajaar returned his attention to the monitor that sat before him and began flicking the dial once again. _Still just birds and clouds _Abu-Hajaar thought.

Until something caught his eye. A bird by itself 10 Miles (16 Kilometers) out from the Bashar Bunker. That wouldn't be any cause for alarm except this bird was showing at around 45,000 Feet.

"Captain Nabir, I have a radar contact showing at roughly 45,789 Feet at 10 miles from our position." Abu-Hajaar said

"Let me see" Captain Nabir said as he returned to his seat and viewed Abu-Hajaar's monitor from his own "It's just a bird Abu-Hajaar"

"A bird at that height? At an approximate speed of 458 miles an hour sir?" Abu-Hajaar said, and in doing so had drawn the attention of several other radar technicians in the room, including Khalil. They began keying into Abu-Hajaars monitor and then checking the contact on their own monitors.

"Captain Nabil, I believe you should notify Tiyas Air Force base, they have a squadron of long range interceptors. I will notify our Anti-Air battery's topside and the Russian Advisors." Khalil said, with several other technicians voicing their agreement.

"The Radar Contacts Cross Section just changed!" shouted a technician at the far end of the room. Abu-Hajaar looked at the radar contact, it appeared to show something opening up on the bottom of the "bird", indicating that the aircraft was most likely opening a bomb bay or a cover for its internal payload.

Captain Nabil's face had turned red. "Notify our men topside Warrant Officer Khalil" He turned to pick up a phone, and as he was dialing it, he turned to Abu-Hajaar and said "Notify the President, in person Abu Hajaar, he will be disappointed to learn we failed in letting the Israeli's penetrate this deeply."

"Yes Captain!" The two men said, as Khalil dialed the phone at his duty station, Abu-Hajaar opened the door out of the EWR Center and ran to the stairs that would take him to the private quarters section.

_Of course im being sent, Captain Nabil is too much of a coward to face the President's wrath himself. The fool deserves Anal Jihad for his incompetence._

"Halt their!" Abu Hajaar's thoughts were interrupted by a Republican Guardsman with a rifle at the ready position about 30 feet ahead of him shouting at him. He was close to where the President quarters of course.

"I'm from the Radar Center! Captain Nabir has sent me to inform the President personally we have a radar contact in close proximity of the city!" Abu Hajaar shouted, still running.

"I will need to call and verify that order! Stay where you are!" A second Republican Guardsman shouted back.

"If there is an Israeli aircraft in our airspace, and it is here in the capital, do you not think it would be wise to be quick? Their is no time for a call!" Abu-Hajaar pleaded

The two Sentries looked at one another "He is a man of logic and should not be taken seriously!" one of them said, as he looped his rifle around his back so he could reach for the pouch on his web gear that contained a pair of handcuffs.

_Oh Allah oh fuck oh shit im going to be shot for this_

Abu-Hajaar grabbed the Sentry who had his rifle at the ready and smashed his head into his own, knocking the man out. While the other Sentry went for his rifle, Abu-Hajaar grabbed a hold of him and the two men fought, but when Abu-Hajaar reared his head back and sent it smashing into the man's forehead, knocking his crimson beret off and sequentially knocking his lights out, it was over.

_I don't even know if that was necessary, but i've come too far to stop now!_

Abu-Hajaar tore the lanyard that contained a keycard off the Sentry with the crimson beret, and slid it in a slot next to the door.

***CLICK***

A light turned green and the door appeared to unlock itself, allowing Abu-Hajaar to open it and step in. Before him was the President of the Arab Syrian Republic, Bashar Hafez Al Assad and the famed Colonel Jamsheed Nassar, two mighty men.

Abu-Hajaar, dumbfounded by the sight of them, stared at them for a moment, unable to say anything.

The President stood up out of his chair with a face full of anger "Speak up! This better be good or I will have you beaten with 30 shoes for your insolence!"


	4. Chapter 3: A Familiar Scene

_Chapter 3: A Familiar Scene_

**? ?**

**Bashar Hafez Al-Assad**

**?,?**

The last thing Al-Assad remembered was taking off his shoes to beat a man to death. Now he was somewhere, but he didn't know where. He was definitely there, but _he_ wasn't their.

_Is this it? Is this where i will move onto? _Al Assad Thought to himself

"No, you will pass on to another world, your time in this one was just a test to prepare you. " A voice answered.

_What is this exactly? _

"This is your judgement" The voice answered again.

_So um… Do i get the 72 vir-_

"Stop. No. This is Barzakh. You will answer me, for I am your Qadi."

_Ok cool, but-_

"First I will ask you, who is your lord?"

_Allah_

"Who is his prophet?"

_Mohammed, is the 72 virgins thing true or-_

"What is your religion?"

_Islam_

"Who made you aware of this?"

_My father_

"Are you sure?"

_I am positive_

"Then let it be known that your wishes have been answered"

_So my wife will finally stop asking about the barrel bombs?_

"No, you will be whisked away to another world, this is your Akhirah. For now at least."

_Wait hold up, I never wished for that_

_Oh Allah Oh fuck Oh shit I did ask for that didnt I?_

"Allah grants those who are faithful paradise, but before you go, take confidence in your friends and family."

Al-Assad was now in a chair, almost as soon as the voice stopped speaking. He actually had a semblance of being somewhere, in a room. A room with a hardwood floor and red painted walls. Their were no doors to this room, no windows. Only a chair in front of him with a table. On the table was a pitcher of water and 2 glasses, along with 2 buttons. A red button and a blue button.

Al-Assad took a moment to collect himself. _How could i be dead? And if I am, where am I going? What about my wife, what of my children?_

As he thought about these things, Al-Assad poured water from the pitcher for a drink to calm himself down, and saw it refill itself as he poured. He took a sip, and set the glass down before leaning into the chair.

_What is going to happen to me? Will I forget about my past life and begin anew? What is paradise like, do I have to work their or will I just sit around all day? Do I get what I want in paradise or will I be alone, will I even exist their? Because I would really like to have my body, I can't imagine not being able to jerk off. _Al-Assad thought, trying to calm himself down. Al-Assad's thoughts began to move from where he was, to where he was exactly right now, his surroundings, and more specifically the chair.

It was a comfortable chair, one he almost didn't want to get out of. He wondered if the chair was made that way, to bring an emotional comfort to the one who sat in it, someone who surely was just given the shock of their life. But Assad felt at peace, he wasn't shocked by his supposed death, just worried and curious about his family. He knew they would be taken care of by his brother and loyal supporters, but he couldn't help but think he would never see them again until they too passed on.

Al-Assad knew he couldn't stay forever, and so he turned to decide which button to press. _These buttons have to be here for a reason, but which one does what?_ He thought to himself.

"Red for the struggle of our independence it is" He said aloud as he hit the red button.

A facade began to form in front of him, from a type of gas or vapor cloud.

"You son of a bitch!" A familiar voice shouted before the facade had finished assembling itself

"Is that you old friend?" Al-Assad said in surprise

And as his facade formed itself, it was his acquaintance, Mummar Gaddafi.

"You sold me out you Ba'athist Bastard! You caved in to the french, of all the people you could of been a bitch to, you snitched to the fucking french." Gaddafi ranted "By Allah, you could of snitched to the jew's and i would have understood, but to have the french responsible for my death is an embarrassment upon my name and you are responsible for it."

"Well the truth is, the game was rigged from the start." _There is no reason for me to be afraid, he can not hurt me.__ I'm on my way to Akhirah! _He thought to himself.

Al-Assad hit the red button. And the facade of Gaddafi was replaced with that of Saddam Hussein, which Bashar gave no time to speak before he hit the red button again. In his place was the unmistakable figure of the man, the myth, the legend.

Osama Bin Laden.

"Bashar, Allah has given me much time and information to reflect and think." Bin Laden said.

"What has he said to you brother?" Al-Assad said. Finally, someone he could get along with, someone who he could reflect with and talk with.

"He told me you were talking shit, and he has allowed me to reflect on the fact that you are a bitch." And with those words, Bin Laden disappeared, to the surprise of Al-Assad as he did not hit the button this time.

Before Al-Assad could reach the button to find another familiar, his wrist was taken hold of by the hand of another man, and that man was Hafez Al-Assad.

"Father! It is so good to see you!" Al-Assad said, jumping out of his chair to give his old man a hug

"My son, it will be a waste of time to continue listening to those who will ridicule you wrongly. Your new life awaits you beyond that door." Hafez Al-Assad pointed to a wall, and a mahogany door appeared in the wall.

"You know what Allah has decided for me?" Al-Assad was surprised, he thought he wouldn't see his father yet.

"We all know, Bashar. You've worked hard in your life, you are ready for the trials of the afterlife. I do warn you, it will be a hard existence and you will face many hardships. But remember, this is all a reward for your service to Allah. When you lived a full life, you will return here. You will be asked by the gatekeeper who met you what you want to do now, you can return here to us, to stay, or you can be given another life, another chance, anything you dream of, but for now you must follow the will of Allah in a life he has chosen for you. I have been here, I do not know how long, but it has been long enough that I have found every conceivable emotion known to man. I have had many hard times, many bouts of happiness. It was all worth it to truly know that your first life is the most important one, it is the one that counts. With all of this in mind, do you have any questions to ask so that I may help guide you?

"What does the blue button do father?" Al-Assad asked

Hafez Al-Assad looked at his son for a moment, then put his hand on his shoulder and said "Some really weird shit, now you must go my son."

"But I want to speak with you father, i have not seen you in so long." Al-Assad pleaded

"I know, we will be reunited again, but for now you have a purpose to fulfill. Allah will reveal that to you along the way. I do not want you to come back here after you lived another life, I want you to experience life as I have, multiple times. As the poorest man to the richest king, in the time of the atom and the time of the sword." And with those words Hafez Al-Assad began to walk with his son to the door.

"I guess this is goodbye then, until we meet again father. I love you" Al-Assad said, and when he looked back he saw his father, joined by his brothers Bassel and Majd and mother Anisa.

"We love you to Assad" They all said in unison.

Bashar Al-Assad opened the door, and as he stepped through the door, he felt at ease all of the sudden, there was a certain comfort that came with stepping through the door. He couldn't truly describe it, but it was almost a sensation of longing, that he had always wanted to step through this door.

Al-Assad's whole life flashed before his eyes, every moment he could remember. Growing up in Damascus, unlike his brothers Bassel and Maher, and sister, Bushra, Bashar was quiet, reserved and lacked interest in politics or the military. He rarely saw his father, Bashar only entered his father's office once while he was president. He soft-spoken, he was timid, avoided eye contact and was often found speaking in a low voice.

He remembered being accepted at Damascus University to study medicine, then his father convincing him to join the army as a doctor. He fondly remembered his father then telling him to leave the army, and go to london to study being an eye doctor, one of the many moments of tenderness from the father he sorely missed. He never cared for politics, his father always groomed his brother Bassel to be the future president.

But when Bassel suddenly died, he was recalled to the Syrian Army. His father decided to make Bashar his Heir, his father made sure until the time he retired to his death bed he trained Bashar every facet of running a country, his image, his support from the people, his support in the military. Bashar was taught well by his father.

He also was given visions of his mistakes, the schemes, the assassination of Rafic Hariri, the occupation of Lebanon, the civil war that plagued his nation. The Barrel Bombs & Sarin Gas attacks, the whole reason he called Colonel Jamsheed to the Bunker.

Which now that he thought about it, that was a really good question. What will happen to all the Sarin Gas in the Bunker? He could only hope Jamsheed would follow his orders to use the gas against Israel.

Al-Assad could feel something different, his world was black. He didn't exist, but he knew he did. He was in the same place as when he first talked to the voice that claimed to be his Qadi.

But now he was laying on his back in what appeared to be a clearing in a thick forest. He was dressed in the suit he was usually seen in public wearing, with all the personal belongings he had on him in the bunker with him. Which was just an old engraved pocket watch, and a handkerchief. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The smell of the sea penetrated his nose. _Well atleast I know i'm on the coast. If I can find the beach I can get an idea of where I am._

Al-Assad got up, and noticed two, soviet-era, rifles laying almost 10 feet away with a magazine pouch. They were similar to the ones he trained with in basic training, but beyond that he had no experience with a rifle.

_What kind of paradise is this? Am i still being tested? _Al-Assad thought, he picked the two rifles up and slung the magazine pouch on. _If Allah has given me these he has given me these for a reason!_ _But two is a little unnecessary, until I find a place to stay im going to carry both with me so I can salvage one for parts if the need arises. I don't have enough Ammunition to worry about that but who knows._

Al-Assad began to walk toward where he thought he heard the sound of the waves come from, not knowing he would never find a beach.


	5. Chapter 4: Ah Shit, Here We Go Again

_Chapter 4: Ah Shit, Here We Go Again._

**?,?,?**

**Bashar Hafez Al-Assad**

**Former President Of The Syrian Arab Republic**

**?,?**

**36°11'59.849", 141°40'46.877"**

Al-Assad noted that the flora of the forest he was in was more than peculiar. At times it seemed to resemble a forest which would belong in central europe, and other times it was more Asiatic. He was currently in what appeared to be a mimicry of a Western European Bocage. The whole area just seemed to give off a weird vibe, it seemed unnatural to him. There was a large mound just a little ways ahead of him, and that was where he had set his sights, if he could get elevated, he would have a vantage point of the surrounding area. He had been walking alongside a Hedgerow for quite some time, up ahead was a break in the wall which he would use to see what was on the other side. When he peered through, Al-Assad was surprised and comforted.

_A dirt road? If I can follow this road to someone I can talk with, I might have a chance. _Al-Assad thought.

He continued skulking on the other side of the Hedgerow, keeping his distance from the gravel road, and out of sight. Al-Assad was glad he devoted much time to collecting books and reading, so much so he could vaguely remember the guidelines of the Syrian Army DM 6-010 Survival Field Manual, more specifically the first guideline on contact with local people.

DM 6-010 7.3 22-1. You must give serious consideration to dealing with the local people. Do they have a primitive culture? Are they farmers, fishermen, friendly people, or enemies? In a survival situation, "cross cultural communication" can vary radically from area to area and from people to people. It may mean interaction with people of an extremely primitive culture or contact with people who have a relatively modern culture. A culture is identified by standards of behavior that its members consider proper and acceptable but may or may not conform to your idea of what is proper. No matter who these people are, you can expect they will have laws, social and economic values, and political and religious beliefs that may be radically different from yours. Before deploying into your area of operations, study these different cultural aspects. Prior study and preparation will help you make or avoid contact if you have to deal with the local population.

As far as Al-Assad was concerned, this was a survival situation. He was in a foreign land without any food, no source of clean water, and without a knowledge of the area beyond its unnatural fauna. Even if he did run into people, what are the chances they would actually understand one another? Of all the people in the world, what are the chance's they would understand or recognize Arabic? Al-Assad suddenly felt uneasy carrying a rifle near the gravel road, if someone saw him what would they think, how would they react?

_Why was I even given two of these? _Al-Assad thought. _For what purpose would Allah give me nothing but two rifles and ammunition? I'd feel safer stashing these for later and coming back to them if I need them. _

Al-Assad looked around for something that would look like a memorable place to store the equipment, and when he found a small crevice that opened up into a small burrow, maybe from a small animal, it seemed like a good place to him. Once he covered the crevice up as naturally as possible, he continued on his way to the mound.

Al-Assad reached the summit of the "mound" he wanted to climb. He had underestimated its true size, it was more a hill than anything. That suited him just fine, the higher the peak, the better a view of the area. He began to walk up the incline, making his way to the top.

_Allah could've at least given me some good shoes _Al-Assad thought. It also occurred to him that he must have been a peculiar sight, a middle aged man in a nice suit walking up the side of a hill in a forest. He chuckled to himself, the suit was one his wife had helped him pick out. Al-Assad stopped in his tracks, and sat down on a nearby fallen tree. He stared blankly into the distance as his mind drifted to his home and his family. It was still hard for Bashar to accept that it was all gone, his marriage wasn't a political one, he and Asma met by chance at a family vacation. He missed her smile and fluffy hair, her kind heartedness. They had never seriously argued, except for recently when he ordered the resumption of barrel bombing. The Syrian Armed Forces were built to counter the Israeli air supremacy that they have always enjoyed during their numerous conflicts with the Arab League.

As such, when the civil war began the Syrian army quickly ran out of precision guided weapons to use against insurgents, and with an embargo and ban on sales of arms to Syria, barrel bombs were the only choice left to use as a ground support weapon.

They had 3 children together. A boy named Hafez, after Al-Assad's father, his daughter Zein, and another boy named Karim. Al-Assad made sure to devote as much time as he possibly could to them, but it's hard to do that and run a country. He just hoped their memory of him was as perfect as his memory of them. And with that, Al-Assad got up and resumed his walk to the top. He was nearly there, but he had to take a moment to think and make up his mind.

_I will always remember them, but I cannot let these emotions clog my thoughts. Besides, feelings and emotions are for homosexuals and Jews._

Bashar Al-Assad finally reached the peak. What he saw stunned him. A large sprawling city, all laid out on what appeared to be a leviathan of a ship. This was definitely no primitive civilization. He was lost for words, the energy that would be required to power such a ship was far beyond anything even the westerners possesed back in his old life. It was now that Al-Assad also had a slight grasp of the area. Based on where he was now, he was roughly in the center of the vessel. He could see a superstructure in the distance, and its positioning was odd relative to the rest of the ship, almost like an aircraft carrier's superstructure. Assuming the direction of the superstructure was the bow of the ship, he could make out what appeared to be the bulk of the town in that direction. To what would be his portside was a much more linear strip of buildings and houses. His starboard side was just more tree's until the edge of the ship. To the Stern of the ship also appeared to be more buildings.

_How many people are even on this thing? And what is the point of a city on a ship? I don't have any money on me, and even if i did i doubt they would accept the Syrian Pound. I also don't have an ID, I don't know if they would consider me a stowaway and yeet me off the side of the ship. I certainly can't tell them "Allah dropped me on your ship and told me this was my paradise". That's also assuming they speak any English, French, or the slim chance they speak Arabic._

Al-Assad decided to take a gamble and venture into the town. He would start with his portside, and see what buildings were around. Something was on his mind as he was making his way down the hill. If he was going to survive, he needed a way to make money. He was more than qualified as a doctor, but nobody would believe someone without ID or their certification. It aggravated Al-Assad to think all those years may have gone to waste. Speaking of years, it puzzled Al-Assad that he was still the same age as when he was in his old world. He assumed if he would of gone to a new life, a life chosen by Allah, he would of at least had to start over completely. At Least that way he would have an educated idea of where he was. This whole scenario still bothered him, it's not what he expected life after death to be at all. He didn't seriously think he was going to get 72 virgins, he didn't martyr himself after all, but he at least expected endless amounts of Hibiscus tea or something.

It must have been early in the day when he first arrived, because by the time Al-Assad reached the edge of the town, it still looked like there was more than enough daylight to burn, but he couldn't be sure. He wished he would have been wearing a watch when he died. A watch would definitely be one of the first thing's he would have to somehow acquire.

Getting closer to the town, Al-Assad was able to vaguely make out the letters on the road signs and shops, and was shockingly able to read them. But he still wasn't at ease, Al-Assad had never seen this kind of lettering before, but it's almost like he was supposed to just understand it because trying to make a character learn a language that takes 4 years for even the smallest amount of proficiency would be fucking boring and so is trying to come up with a bullshit isekai reason for a meme story about a middle eastern dictator getting a thick ass anime waifu(s).

For such a large town, the streets were relatively empty, and there were some people here and there on the sidewalk but not as many as he expected. Despite this Al-Assad felt very self conscious, he always thought the way he walked compared to other people was odd, especially as he was very tall compared to most people from the middle east. He was always constantly worried about keeping good posture so he wouldn't appear to be some lanky hunchback. He also worried about how he would sound, he knew he spoke with a minor lisp if he wasn't paying attention. The only way he could overcome this was by being a formidable and almost intimidating figure, this was one of the ways he helped promote a strongman image whenever western reporters lined up to receive a one on one interview with the President.

He didn't need to do that anymore, at least he hoped. The best way he would be able to get along with these people would be to appear as friendly and as educated as he could be, instead of some uncouth and ignorant jew. The simplest way to start doing that, would be to find a barber to give him a professional clean shave since he was feeling some stubble.


End file.
